Under Dark Stars
by freakily obsessed Yassen fan
Summary: Set in the Dalziel and Pascoe episode of the same name, so spoilers for that episode! Written because I hated Pascoe being alone. Thanks to Shawn and Jade for Betaing. M for safety.


**Yeah, this is why you should never watch murder mystery programs when in a writing mood. An entirely random rewrite of the episode Under Dark Stars, purely because I didn't like Peter Pascoe being alone through it. I only own Amber!**

**M for language and mild(ish) sex... Enjoy... (not the language or the mild sex. Or you could, of course... i'm just going to shut up!)**

**Under Dark Stars**

I rolled onto my front when I head Peter come in, a smile forming instantly on my lips. His footsteps were quicker than usual, urgent, and I could hear his heavy breathing. Though they were quick, his feet were quiet, like he was barefoot. He didn't come into the bedroom. Instead, I heard him hurry into the kitchen. There was the rustle of a plastic bag and more urgent footsteps. A minute later I heard the patter of water in the shower. What was he doing?

Smile fading to be replaced by a puzzled frown, I stood up, wrapping the duvet around me, and padded out into the hallway. The bathroom door was locked.

"Peter? Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be in, in a few minutes..." I could hardly hear him over the rushing water, but I could tell that he was tense and scared.

"Peter... let me in, please."

"Amber, go back to bed. I'm fine. Just... look, I'll be in with you in a minute."

"Ok..." I turned to walk away from the door, but then spun round and padded back. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." I heard the smile in his voice. He might be scared, but I could still make him smile. I returned to the bedroom and spread the duvet over the sheets again. And then I pulled on his dressing gown and padded into the sitting room.

It was a good twenty minutes before he came in again. I had been dozing, but I snapped awake as soon as he come in through the door. He had obviously dressed in the bathroom: he wore a white t-shirt and tight fitting blue boxers. His long legs were bare. A few droplets of water glistened on the back of his neck and his hair was still damp.

He didn't notice me and went straight to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. I saw that he spilled some. His hand was shaking violently. And then his phone rang and he jerked round abruptly. His eyes rested briefly on me, curled up on the sofa with my gaze fixed on his face, and he frowned, but hurried over to answer the phone without making a comment. I saw his face tighten as he glanced at the caller ID.

"Pascoe," he said brusquely. A moment later, all colour drained from his face. His mouth hung slackly open and his eyes were full of fear.

"What?" He asked. I could hear the tremble in his voice.

I started up, climbing to my feet quickly. He looked like he was going to collapse. He ran a hand through his hair, the movement quick and jerky with fear. Then relief washed over his face.

"Yeah, stunned. But not by you. That crack I got on the head was playing me up, so I came home to get some rest."

There followed a long pause and then he said, "Why?" and a moment later, "I'll be waiting outside." And hung up.

"Peter?" He hesitated, looking towards me. "What's going on? Why are you so… scared?"

"I can't tell you," he said.

"You can. Please..." He sighed, glancing away. I closed the last couple of feet between us and wrapped my arms around him. I ran a hand down his thigh. "Please."

"Later," he murmured, his voice husky. I smiled, but I could feel that he hadn't relaxed properly.

"Promise?"

"Yes." He smiled and kissed me quickly, and then padded off into the bedroom to get dressed..

"Have fun with Dalziel," I said as he walked back through the flat. He was dressed in tight-fitting jeans that showed off his bum and a clean shirt, and I was half tempted to grab him. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"Yeah..." He muttered distractedly. I stood up and kissed him, but he didn't respond. "Peter..." He looked at me then and traced a fingertip along the line of my jaw.

"Stay up," he whispered.

"I promise." I smiled and his lips twitched very slightly in response. And then he turned round and hurried out of the flat.

I was still awake when he came into the bedroom later. He was smiling, but there was a hunted look in his eyes. I watched him undress, enjoying the gleam of moonlight and soft light from the small lamps on his skin. He smiled at me every now and then, but although I smiled back, the knot of worry in my stomach didn't loosen.

As he slid in beside me, I noticed that his skin was red raw, from his shower, I guessed. But why? He had scrubbed his body almost until he'd bled. I couldn't believe it. What could have happened to make him do that to himself?

"Peter..." I whispered. I ran my fingers over the thick red streaks that marked his chest and neck. He pushed my hands away.

"Don't, Amber. Please, just don't."

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Amber." All levity had gone from his voice now and I could hear the warning in his tone, but I didn't care.

"Peter. Tell me, please. You're scaring me..." He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There was a long silence, but I kept quiet, desperate to find out what was going on.

"Wheeler," he said eventually, his voice quiet. I tensed immediately. The man was trouble.

"What about him?"

"He's dead."

"Really? And what does Dalziel think of you skiving off the investigation?" My voice was light and teasing, trying to put him at his ease. It didn't work. He turned his head and gave me a tortured look before staring up at the ceiling again.

"He doesn't know." There was something in his voice that made me sit up.

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't know Wheeler's dead. Yet."

"But you do? Peter, what's going on?"

"Mark killed him this evening... and I hid the body." I sat silent for a moment, unsure of how I should react, and how I should be feeling. I should be horrified, scared. Maybe I should be screaming or running away. Instead I just sat there, staring at him, unable to take it in. But I wasn't scared. I knew that much instantly. I didn't think it was possible to be scared. If you loved someone, surely you couldn't be scared of them at the same time.

"You're..." I stopped. "Come here." I pulled him up to sit beside me, and wrapped my arms around him. I wasn't sure how, but a moment later, he was sobbing, his face pressed into my neck. Hot, salty tears ran down, spilling over my shoulder. I held him tight, kissing the top of his head over and over, telling him that I was there for him.

"Don't say anything," he said suddenly, pulling away.

"I won't," I promised. I cupped his face and kissed him gently.

"Dalziel will work it out eventually," he muttered.

"Maybe... but he's your friend..."

"He's a policeman first. He wouldn't treat me any differently to any of the other murderers we deal with."

"He would. You're not a murderer anyway, are you?"

"No... but I might as well be. I didn't even try to stop Mark."

"What did he do?" I asked.

"Mark? He'd tied him up. He was just hanging by his arms. He'd been there for a while… Mark called me at work, would you believe it? When I got there, Wheeler confessed to everything. We got him down… and Mark stabbed him. Wheeler provoked him, talking about his son, his wife, but… I didn't know what to do. He's lost everything. So I didn't call anyone, just… helped. He was wearing gloves, so it was easy. I know what to do, you know, to make sure they won't find out who did it."

"Wheeler didn't deserve your help," I said decisively. "If he killed them, he didn't deserve your help."

"I burned the car, though. I've got his blood all over my clothes... My hands, too." I picked one of them up, stroking his palm with my fingertips.

"I don't see any blood," I told him. "You didn't kill Wheeler. Remember that." He nodded.

"Where did you hide... him?" I asked a few minutes later.

"The river..."

"So he might not even be found..."

"But there are people out there who need to been saved – Wheeler talked about Dean, just before he died - and he was the only one who knew where they are. What if we don't find them? It'll be my fault..." His words were overtaken by a hoarse sob and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling.

"Peter, hush..." I pulled him close again, so he was almost sat on my lap, and clutched at his back. I could almost feel him falling apart under my hands. "You said you got hit, earlier," I said, trying to distract him. He nodded, bringing a hand up to touch the top of his head.

"It was just where that bastard hit me yesterday. I'm pretty sure it's fine. Bit bruised, maybe." He shrugged. "I deserve it anyway."

"No you don't, Peter. Don't even think it." He nodded again, but didn't reply aloud.

Eventually we lay down, facing each other. I held his gaze, offering him the support that he needed so badly. Our arms stayed wrapped around each other and after almost an hour, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I stayed awake for a while longer. Peter had helped to commit a crime. The idea was so outlandish that I could hardly grasp it. He wasn't a murderer though, he couldn't be... No. He wasn't. He'd made a mistake. That was all. In any case, I still loved him. I still loved him. Sighing, I slid deeper down into the bed and burrowed into his chest. He drew me unconsciously closer and I rested my head on his muscular arm, using it as a pillow as I slid into sleep.

He was awake when I woke up, standing by the window. His lean body was silhouetted against the cold morning light.

"Peter," I murmured. He turned quickly, his eyes startled. I could see that he had hardly slept. "Come here." He obeyed instantly, seeming to shrink in on himself as he walked.

"You want to leave," he said dully.

"No, I... What? Why would I want to leave you?"

"I'm a killer – a murderer. Why would you stay?"

"You're not a killer. And I love you, Peter. That's why I'm going to stay." I reached out and twined my arms around his waist. He sank down on the bed beside me and I kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

"I've got to go," he murmured, but his voice lacked conviction and he pulled me closer. I laughed and kissed him again.

"Peter, you can't hide from Dalziel forever, you know," I reprimanded softly. Reluctantly, I pushed him away. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up so I was sitting in front of him.

"Come with me?" He asked. I hesitated.

"I don't know..."

"Please. I can't do this on my own. Not today. You've done it before, haven't you? Dalziel thinks you're sweet." He chuckled at the thought.

"Ok. I'll come," I agreed after a minute.

"Thanks." He bent down and kissed me. "You might want to put some clothes on, though."

"Yeah. I was going to anyway. Sorry," I added, grinning at him. He winked, a cheeky, suggestive smile appearing on his lips.

I laughed at him and swung my legs out of bed.

Ten minutes later, we headed out the door. Peter was clutching two black bin bags. I didn't ask what was in them – I'd already guessed. Peter refused to talk until he'd got rid of them, tossing them into the back of the rubbish lorry and then catching hold of my hand again. I smiled despite myself – it was a smooth operation.

The morning passed quickly; I sat with Peter and Dalziel, listening as they talked quietly about the case, and then sat in the car while they went into the AutoRecovery depot. Having caught up with their suspect, I sat with Spicer while they questioned him. We got on very well, although I was younger than her, but I didn't pay as much attention to her as I usually did. I was too worried about Peter.

And then, as I sat on his lap while he called the credit card company, Spicer came over. I could tell instantly that something was wrong.

"... think it's Michael Wheeler." I felt Peter tense and touched his leg gently. Dalziel stood up quickly, a smile flickering over his face.

"Let's go," he said. "Peter...?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine, won't you?" He glanced towards me.

"Yeah." I reached out and laced our fingers together.

It was Wheeler, of course. I saw the tension in Peter's face as he looked at the body, and tugged gently on his hand. If I could see his tension, Dalziel could too.

I kept my grip on his hand as we walked towards the homeless man who had found the body. We were at the back of the group and I whispered to him, "Relax. You'll give yourself away." He turned his head and kissed me fiercely.

"Thanks, babe," he murmured, a little of the fear gone from his features.

"Oi, Peter. Spit her out. You're not getting paid to snog her."

"All right, Andy." Peter turned regretfully away, but kept his grip on my hand.

Dalziel ordered us to wait a few yards away, and I instantly pulled my hand out of Peter's, and then wrapped his arm around me. He smiled and kissed the top of my head, but I could feel his attention focused absolutely towards Dalziel, and what he was saying.

"I were walking by the river. Under the motorway... I saw lights." Peter tensed and shifted a little at the words, his eyes darting around the field and in that moment I realised just how close he was to screaming.

"It's all right," I whispered. I took his hand in mine and held it tight. He squeezed gently, his way of letting me know that he was ok. It was a lie, but it made me smile a little. It was just so like him to try and pretend that everything was ok, that nothing was wrong.

Dalziel walked back towards us, frowning. The tramp hadn't been able to give a description of the person who'd thrown Wheeler's body in the river. Little did Dalziel know that he himself would be able to give an exceptionally good description.

I didn't listen to what they said as we walked back towards the body. Peter muttered something about court but Dalziel didn't answer.

"You go on ahead," he said. "I'll... catch up." I felt Peter shrug as we started forwards. He turned and glanced back but I tugged him forwards.

"You're a bit obvious," I muttered. He snorted.

"I can't help it..."

"I know." I reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

I stood back from the body while Peter hurried over to Dalziel. I didn't hear what they said – I was too busy eyeing up Peter. He looked delicious in a pair of dark blue jeans and a leather jacket. I shook my head. Now really wasn't the time.

We stood close together to listen to Frank talking about what had happened to Wheeler. Peter kept his eyes on the body for the most part, only occasionally glancing across at Frank.

"Well if you're gonna murder for blood, then why not take out someone who deserves it?" Peter said, his voice tense. I'd missed what had gone before.

"Or it could be a copycat." Dalziel looked back at the body.

"You didn't make the TV broadcast until last night. Pretty short notice." Dalziel looked round like he'd just realised something. "Till then, no one knew about the priest."

"Just the blood drinker," Dalziel said. He looked at Peter. "And us."

Peter kept his eyes on the body and Dalziel looked away.

I grasped Peter's hand in mine again as we walked back towards the car. I could tell that he was shaken up and all I wanted was to get him home, get him to relax. No such luck.

The next stop: Wheeler's house. I wasn't allowed in, naturally enough, so I sat in the car and watched Peter and Dalziel walk down the driveway. Peter glanced back once, his eyes imploring, and then carried on down the driveway.

It was twenty minutes or so before they came out. Peter looked at me and I knew that something had happened, but with Dalziel just a few feet away, I didn't dare ask him what. But then Dalziel walked off to talk to Spicer and I leant forward quickly.

"What's happened?"

"I found Mark's ID bracelet." He reached into his pocket and it spilled into his hand like liquid. I stared at it, horrified. And terrified.

"Did Dalziel see it?"

"I don't think so... but he's acting strangely. I think he suspects something." I leant forward and kissed him as Dalziel came back towards us. Peter jammed the bracelet back into his pocket.

"Where are we off to?" I asked as Dalziel slid into the driver's seat, making my voice light and casual.

"Mark Croft's." Peter tried to inject some enthusiasm into his voice, but it come out flat and toneless. Dalziel glanced at him, but didn't comment.

Once again, I had to stay in the car. Peter looked at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry. I invite you out and you spend the whole day waiting in the car."

"It's fine," I said, loud enough for Dalziel to hear. "Just catch the guy."

The flats looked very threatening from where I was sat and I couldn't stop the feeling that Peter was walking into a trap.

I don't know how much later it was when they came out. Both men were pale, but Peter looked completely beside himself. No more, I decided. No more. We were going home before Peter lost his mind.

Thankfully, Dalziel seemed to share my idea, if not my reasons, and within half an hour, we pushed through the front door.

"Tell me," I said. He shook his head, turning away and running his hands distractedly through his hair.

"It had to be Wheeler. He confessed..."

"Peter!" I snapped, reaching out and grabbing his arm. He turned quickly and for a second, I was scared.

But then he took a step towards me and his hands came up to clutch at my face, pulling me in for a fierce, powerful kiss that left my lips tingling with pain, but made the rest of my body tingle with desire. He looked at me carefully when he pulled away, his eyes full of wary questions.

I smiled.

"Of course. Be selfish."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, but you need... a release. And I can help with that." I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. It was what I'd wanted to do all day and he certainly didn't need any encouragement.

He bent quickly and pulled me up against his chest. I kept my arms around his neck and my mouth on his. His hands danced over my body and I uttered a soft gasp as he peeled my clothes away from my skin.

"You're..." he started, but I cut the words off with my lips.

"No talking," I murmured. I pushed away from his chest and he lowered my feet to the floor. I pushed my hands up under his shirt, and then slid them out and pulled his jacket from his shoulders. He tried once more to talk, but I pressed a finger to his lips.

"Don't." I pulled the clothes off of his body and then took his hand, leading him into the bedroom.

I'd told him to be selfish, but the sheer power and desperation with which he thrust into me made me moan and cry out and arch with pleasure. Afterwards, we lay close together, skin on skin, sated and satisfied.

"Tell me now?" I asked, running my fingers over his chest. He hesitated, and then reached up and grasped my fingers, stilling their movements on his skin.

"When we were in Mark's flat, I gave him the ID bracelet back – put it behind the sofa cushions – and then... there was a phone call. Like the ones he's been getting all week. The ones that we thought Wheeler was responsible for."

"Shit," I muttered, suddenly realising what he'd meant when he'd said about Wheeler confessing. "What did Dalziel think?"

"You were in the car," he reminded me. I smiled.

"I was a bit distracted," I confessed. He laughed and I felt the vibrations in my cheek.

"You and your hormones," he said. I shrugged.

"You're the one going out with me. Besides, it's not my fault. I'm younger than you – I'm allowed."

"I guess not..." I lifted my head and looked up at him.

"I love you," I murmured.

"Love you too." He paused and sighed. "Dalziel thought it might have been a partnership. I think he's right, to be honest. Wheeler confessed, and he mentioned Dean... so he knew something. Two killers. Three," he corrected himself, his features darkening.

"Hey..." I rose up on my elbows and kissed his neck. He tilted his head back and moaned very softly.

"Hey, what?" He asked quietly, raising his head.

"Hey, stop thinking about it." I rested my head once more on his chest and together, wrapped in each other, we drifted into sleep.

When I woke, Peter looked like he was still asleep, his arms around me, one hand gripping his other forearm like he was scared that I'd be gone when he woke. I turned my head and looked at the clock.

"Peter," I murmured, "you're going to be late."

"Come with me," he replied without opening his eyes.

"I can't. Dalziel will wonder what's going on."

"Please."

"No, you know it's too risky. Now get up and get dressed."

"You really are determined to ruin all my fun, aren't you?" he asked softly, finally raising his head and looking at me.

"Yes. Now, get up. I'll still be here when you get back."

"You'd better be," he murmured, smiling. There was a glint in his eyes that set my heart racing and I was suddenly regretful when he rolled out of bed, out of reach.

"Call me," I said, watching him picking up clothes.

"I will," he said, flicking his eyes towards me.

"Good." He leant over and kissed me quickly.

The morning passed slowly. I didn't get out of bed until nearly midday. It was hard to drag myself out of somewhere that bore his scent so heavily that it sat in the air and clung to my skin.

But eventually, hunger prompted me to roll out of bed and pad into the kitchen. I was just starting my second slice of toast when my phone rang. I snatched it up.

"Peter," I said.

"Hey. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Are you? What have you heard about Wheeler?" There was a second or so before he replied, and when he did, his voice was strained.

"Mark tortured him. Practically crucified him. His entire body was... well, buggered. He couldn't have run, even if he'd wanted to..."

"Peter," I said shortly. He took in a deep breath.

"Yeah, ok. Thanks. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Sure. Love you."

"Love you too," he replied. We stayed on the line for a second longer, and then hung up.

I was in bed again when he got back. I heard the car pull up outside and quickly stood up, going to the window and looking out.

There was no sign of life inside and I felt a flash of panic, and then told myself sternly to stop it. If I was scared, Peter would pick up on it in an instant.

But eventually, he got out of the car and I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped away from the window. He was already on the phone when he burst into the flat, the blue light from his phone reflecting on his face, casting it in an eerie light. I moved silently out of the way as he walked past. I could see the mixture of fear and furious anger in his face. Right now, he wasn't a man to mess with.

"Why didn't you tell me about your ID bracelet?" He exploded. God he was angry. I wouldn't want to be Mark. I heard a murmur of sound from the other end and Peter rolled his eyes, turning towards me again. He pressed a hand against his forehead, covering his eyes.

"I found it at Wheeler's house." His voice was shaking with barely controlled fury. He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning again.

"Right, look on the sofa," he ordered. "I left it between the cushions." He was almost biting his thumb, digging his nail into the skin right beneath his lip.

"No. It must be," he said, an edge of panic entering his voice. He was silent for a long second, bracing his hand against the side of his head with his little finger.

"Right, doesn't matter. Forget it. Uh... uh... just let me handle this. You didn't go back looking for it?" Another turn. I watched his every step, ready to either run towards or away from him. He stopped.

"Or to the..." He faltered. "To the other place?"

There was another mutter of sound. It sounded urgent and Peter sucked in a deep breath.

"Nothing. Let me... I'll deal with this." He hung up and then clamped a hand over his mouth, retching.

"Peter," I whispered, reaching out to him, but he pushed straight past me and ran into the bathroom. I followed him and knelt beside him, stroking the back of his neck gently while he threw up again and again. Even once he'd finished, he stayed with his head hanging slackly over the toilet bowl.

I got up and soaked a flannel in cold water, and then turned back. I didn't talk while I pulled his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it on the floor, and then followed it with his shirt. As I squeezed cold water over the back of his neck, he ran a hand down my calf and turned his head, flicking his eyes towards my face. I touched his cheek in silent acknowledgement of his thanks, and then pressed the cloth to his forehead.

"Come on," I whispered. I took his hand and gently pulled him to his feet. He buried his face in my neck and I felt the tears burning on my skin. Running my fingers through his close-cropped hair, I kissed his neck and murmured, "Hush," into his ear. Eventually, he straightened.

"I need a drink," he said, his voice hoarse and painful. I nodded.

"Come on," I repeated. He sank down onto the sofa and fought to stop his hands shaking while I ran the tap until the water was icy cold and then filled a glass.

"Here," I said, passing it to him. He whispered his thanks and I sank down beside him. He slid a hand onto my leg, drumming his fingers on my thigh.

"I love you," I whispered. He nodded silently.

"Peter, for God's sake, look at me." I pulled his head round and he met my gaze. What I saw there scared me more than anything else. He looked like a dead man with a pulse. I jerked back reflexively and he dropped his gaze again, tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry... Peter, I'm sorry." I sighed and kissed his forehead. "Bed. Come on, now." I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. He moved sluggishly, like he was half asleep. An idea entered my mind and I blushed slightly, but it had to be worth a try...

I helped him undress, and then pushed him down onto the bed. He might have acted like he was only semi-conscious, but he responded easily and willingly enough to my touch and by the time I fell away from him, breathless and slick with sweat, he was back to himself, smiling at me.

"Thanks," he said, so quietly that I could only just hear him. I didn't reply, just burrowed my face into his chest and breathed in.

"I love you," I whispered a minute later.

"I love you too," he replied. He kissed the top of my head and ran his hand down my back. "You should get some sleep. I don't think I'll be able to, but you shouldn't stay up."

I wanted to argue, but something in his eyes told me that he wanted some time alone and me sleeping was as close as he was going to get.

"Wake me if you need to," I told him, and then pressed in against his chest. He kept his arms around me and that was the last thing I could remember before I fell asleep.

He was gone when I woke, the space beside me still warm from his body. I rolled across and reached for the note I knew he would have left on his bedside table. Sure enough, my fingers closed on a folded square of paper, covered in his neat handwriting.

_Had to go in early – information came in about the voice changer. Didn't want to wake you. I don't think I'll be too late back. I love you._

_Peter XX_

I smiled and touched the paper to my lips. It was so like him to rush off early without waking me.

Even as I thought it, my phone rang on the other side of the room, where I'd kicked my jeans. I scrambled to answer it.

"Amber. He knows. He fucking knows. I'm sure. He said that I was hiding something... almost. I don't know... God, what's going to happen?" I could hear his voice edging ever closer to all out panic. Whatever had happened, he _had_ to stay calm.

"Peter. Hush." He fell silent immediately. "If Dalziel knows anything, if he hasn't told you directly, I don't think he plans to make it public. Go wherever you're going and calm the hell down. You'll give yourself away."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." A sigh came through the speaker in a rush of static. "Thank you. I'll see you later, ok?"

"Of course." I smiled as he hung up and padded back to the bed. My side of it had gone cold, but his still retained some warmth so I slid in beneath the duvet again, glancing at the clock. It was half past eleven. Wow, he really was early.

I wished I was with him. It was the not knowing that really got me. The fact that he could even now be in some Police cell and I wouldn't have a clue. God, I missed him so much it hurt.

He phoned me quickly to say that they were setting a trap for the killer – a girl, apparently – using Mark and would be late back, but I guessed that he was with Dalziel as he hung up quickly and only spoke a few brief words.

It didn't make me feel any better, knowing that wherever he was, Peter would be in danger, in the company of two murderers. And a superior who knew far too much.

I almost cried when he came in at eleven that night. His eyes were tired as he hugged me. There was a scratch on his cheek and I touched it gingerly with my fingertips.

"What happened?" I asked, almost nervously.

"The girl wasn't there. We found Dean – he's alive. He'll be ok. We dropped Mark back to his flat. And followed him up just in case. She was there. As soon as he came in, she jumped out at him, like a bloody wildcat. She would have killed him, but he was wearing a vest. He's fine. She just scratched me when I grabbed her."

It was a completely different context, but I still felt a stab of jealousy when he talked about grabbing another girl. It must have shown on my face because he laughed and kissed the tip of my nose.

"I love you, silly girl," he said.

We spent the night awake, curled together, reaffirming our bond. I spent most of the time with my face buried in his chest, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of him. We had sex, and made love, and had sex again, all through the night. I couldn't get enough of him, and he apparently couldn't get enough of me.

When we untangled ourselves, the sun was rising outside and we were both exhausted, but content, wrapped in each other.

But then we had to return to reality. Peter went to work, still smelling of sex and me. I knew that he would have to interview the girl who had attacked him, but although I wanted to be there with him, and although he had asked, I'd decided against going with him. He had to deal with this last bit alone.

But he dropped by around lunch time and burst into the room. I was luckily dressed and he grabbed my hand and towed me out of the flat.

"Where are we going?" I asked, laughing as we raced down the stairs.

"I convinced Andy that you were pining for me. We're going to the church." He hesitated. "With Mark." I let myself go slack behind him. "Please, Amber..." He turned, pleading with his eyes and after a second, I nodded, following him out to the car.

We met Mark in the graveyard, watched him kneeling by the graves of his son and wife. I sensed that Dalziel wanted to talk to Peter, but when I tried to move away, the older man called me back. Peter laced our fingers together and we walked in silence for a minute.

"How long have we known each other?" Dalziel asked slowly, staring into the distance.

"Eleven years," Peter replied, a small frown darkening his features.

Dalziel repeated it, and then added, "Long time." He turned slowly and held out a hand. He dropped something into Peter's palm. "Saw you find it at Wheeler's." Peter tilted his hand and I saw the ID bracelet glittering in his palm. He closed his fingers on it.

Peter stayed silent, and then sucked in a breath to explain, but Dalziel cut across him. "Don't. I've checked your mobile records. Croft phoned you at ten past eight on the night of the murder. Spicer saw you leave the station. Was Wheeler still alive when you found them?"

"Yeah," Peter said softly after a long pause. "He confessed to it all, but… but then... then it was too late. I'm sorry, Andy."

"Sorry?" Dalziel asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. I gripped Peter's hand tighter in my own. "Why? Why risk everything?"

Peter's eyes flicked towards Mark.

"Look at him," he said quietly. "Look at those graves. I owed it to him." His voice got stronger over the last few words.

"The system failed him. Not you... And now... what a mess." Peter avoided his eyes, but glanced towards me for a fraction of a second.

"And what am I supposed to do now, eh?" Dalziel asked, flicking his gaze towards me as well. I shrank away from him and dropped my gaze.

Peter didn't answer for the longest time, and then, staring at the floor, he said, "So are you my judge? Or are you my friend?"

"I don't know any more." Peter raised his chin slightly at the words, showing how much they hurt. I could almost feel the pain roiling inside him. Dalziel turned and slowly walked away, leaving Peter with me and a murderer.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything, just stood beside him and held his hand as tightly as I could, forcing myself to stay put, not to move, not to follow Dalziel. This must be how people committed murder. They got so angry at people who hurt the people they love that they lose control. That was what had happened to Mark Croft.

"You're all right," I murmured. "You're all right." It was a lie, but I couldn't tell him the truth, and any hope I could offer, even if it was fake, was worth its weight in gold to my boyfriend right now. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Not in front of Peter. If I broke down too, he... well, I didn't want to think about what would happen . I stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Home," I whispered, but it was an order. Peter glanced towards Mark and it was clear that he was wondering if the man's gratitude was worth all this. I could have answered in a heartbeat: no. But worth it or not, Peter had helped him and now Dalziel knew and it was all going wrong. As Dalziel had said, 'what a mess.'

"Come on." Peter was the one tugging now, leading me back towards the entrance. I fell into step beside him and he wrapped an arm around me. It felt like he was holding me together. His body was trembling against my side and I slid an arm round his waist.

"What now?" I asked softly as Peter closed the door behind us. He shrugged, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I don't know. If Andy... if Andy decides to tell anyone... that's it. It'll be the end of my career. I don't know what to do..."

"Pete..." He turned to look at me for a split second, and then turned away.

"I don't know," he repeated. He stared distractedly out of the window, watching the traffic passing by below. I sucked in a deep, steadying breath and walked over to him.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He asked as I twined my arms around his waist.

"Yes," I agreed, looking out at the city. The concrete and mess was covered by the darkness and the city was outlined in lights, from cars and streetlights. The effect really was very pretty.

"I'd miss it... if... you know." His voice tailed off and I clasped his forearm in my hand, trying to reassure him.

"He won't," I said, injecting as much certainty as I could muster into my voice. He snorted.

"I wish I could believe you," he whispered, "I really do."

"Whatever happens," I murmured. He shook his head violently.

"No. I don't want you to be involved in this." His voice was strong, certain, but I ignored the tone.

"It's too late, isn't it? I'm already involved. Andy knows that I know."

"I can talk to him. He wouldn't..."

"If he tries to do anything, my name will come up. I'm not going to lie about anything – I can't lie for shit anyway. It wouldn't make any difference if I left now. I'm staying."

He pulled my arms apart and turned around, placing his hands on my shoulders.

"I can't let you do this."

"I'm not giving you a choice," I told him.

"I could stop seeing you," he threatened. I gazed at him steadily.

"You could," I conceded. I didn't argue. Knowing him, arguing would just make him more determined to get his own way. Eventually, he sighed.

"No, I couldn't. I need you." He released my shoulders and pulled me in against him. I pressed my cheek against his shoulder and closed my eyes.

"Whatever happens," I repeated. This time, he nodded and kissed the top of my head.

"Whatever happens," he echoed.

I turned in his arms and stared out of the window. After a moment, he laced our fingers together. Whatever happens.


End file.
